No Good Drabble Goes Unpublished
by Merina 2
Summary: A collection of randomized, ten-minute-scribbled Wicked drabbles of all shapes and sizes, based around songs, scenes, or deleted moments from the show. Huge variety. Fiyeraba, Gelphie hate/love/friendship, also Flinda/Gliyero, Bessa, Gloq.
1. Introduction

**This story basically does what it says on the tin. The following drabbles are unfinished (I repeat, UNFINISHED) and were mostly scribbled down in about ten minutes by me over the past few years. There's no point in them simply sitting rotting at the bottom of my computer for all eternity – hence the birth of this story.**

**The general formula for each drabble's information will be this: **

TitleofDrabble (NameOfScene/Song it's set around/in, Pairing/Ships, featuring OtherCharacters.)

_Description/Summary._

**I know we readers like to pick and choose our drabbles, so it's worth noting that I will be providing ALL OF THE ABOVE INFORMATION for each drabble at the top of each chapter. In the chapter selection bar, I will also provide TITLES AND SHIPS/MAIN CHARACTERS - that way, you can skim for all the Fiyeraba you like, without having to plough through every single drabble.**

**Enjoy!**


	2. Hypocrite (Gelphie hate-friendship)

**Hypocrite (Pre-Defying Gravity, Gelphie hate/friendship)**

**_Elphaba and Glinda flee the Wizard's guards, climbing stairwells and barricading doors, making promises they cannot keep and speaking words they will forever regret. _****_Based on some cut dialogue from an early workshop version_**** of the musical.**

* * *

"_Guards, guards! There is a fugitive at large in the palace – find her, capture her, and bring her to me!"_

* * *

Hand in hand, they fled.

"Elphie – Elphie, wait –Elphie, _stop -!_"

She made no answer, only tugged her friend faster. Ducking through archways. Scrambling up stairs. Scurrying down corridors. Twisting and turning and tumbling through chambers Glinda was _absotively_ positive they had no right to be in.

"- Elphie, where are you going –!"

Elphie's fingers, slippery with cold sweat, curled around her's like a bird's claw, pulling them along at a frightful pace. Glinda gasped for air, feet tripping over one another.

"Elphie, I – I can't keep up -!"

Elphie didn't answer, but paused a second, just long enough to scoop one arm under Glinda's and half-drag her up the last flight of stairs, heave her through another locked door, settle her gently on the grime-encrusted floor of the attic they had entered. Glinda clutched at the gnawing stitch in her side with one trembling hand, dusting off the filth from her skirt with the other – _how _had they made it all the way up here so fast -?!

"No more stairs!" Elphie was hissing as she whirled from wall to empty wall, one hand clutching at her hair, mottled over her clammy forehead and escaping in gnarled tangles from under her hat. "No more stairs, Oz-damnit, what are we going to _do -!_"

"_Elphie_." She stumbled up to catch her hand again – she _needed_ that hand, that familiar grasp of safety, of security, now more than ever. "Wait – Elphie, what are you _doing -?!_"

"Barricading the door, of course!" she shouted, a hysterical edge to her voice that sent a sliver of icy terror down Glinda's spine. She'd never seen Elphie like this before; worked up to a frenzy, set loose upon the world – was that something to fear, or be thankful for? Sweet Oz, she didn't know! Elphie's hands drew attic paraphernalia from every direction, fingertips glowing as she levitated benches into a stack, braced broomsticks under the bolts, tangled ropes around the handle – Glinda yelped as a rug twitched under her feet, desperate to join the fray.

"Elphie, stop – _help -!_"

"It's all right – Glin, it's all right!" she soothed, dashing over to detach the rug and then reaching for her, arms outstretched. "Don't be afraid, we'll be fine, you'll be fine, I won't let those – _imbeciles _hurt you –"

_BANG. _A gunshot.

"_Hurt _me?!" Glinda's fear finally spluttered out of her, three octaves too high and three floors of the Wizard's palace too late. "Sweet Oz, Elphie – it's the Gale Force, _the Gale Force, _we'll be lucky if they don't kill us as soon as look at us -!"

"I won't let them," she vowed, pulling her close, those bony arms safe and familiar as breathing, but not safe enough, _not safe enough_…_!_ "I won't let them touch us, Glin – Glin –"

But she wouldn't answer; only wrenched herself away, lower lip trembling – there was anger, now, as well as fear, pulsing through her veins and rasping through her lips as she struggled to get a hold of herself but she couldn't, she couldn't and oh sweet _Oz _she was so frightened – frightened for Elphie, frightened for herself, frightened for her reputation, for what her parents would say, for what the wizard would do to them after what they'd…after what _Elphie _had…!

"Why –_why!_" The words choked out of her as she fought back the tears suddenly stinging in her eyes. "Why did you have to do that horrendible spell for him!"

She wanted to take the words back the instant they were out, but they were true, they were true and oh, how she wished they _weren't…_

Elphaba blinked, all urgency stilled to a sudden standstill. "What sort of a question is that?"

"You just had to – had to -!"

The words were there, the accusation was coming, the anger and fear boiling and bubbling its way up her throat and out into –

"- had to – _show off _for him, didn't you! You just had to – had to have your moment in the spotlight – had to do that silly spell because you wanted him to notice you…approve of you…_admire_ you…!"

Elphie's face was darkened by shadows, cast from the little light that there was in the dilapidated attic…but her eyes burned, even through the darkness. Glinda's voice caught in her throat and she choked into silence again, burying her face in her hands as the tears spilled over. She was going to regret that.

When Elphie finally spoke, her voice pierced like a white-hot poker.

"_You little hypocrite_."

Glinda flinched. The truth in that statement tied her stomach into knots. She squirmed against it, spitting before she could stop herself, "Well – w-well, he's _noticed _you, all right – got what you wanted – so I'd say _you're _the real hypocrite around here!"

"You _think so_, do you?"

The words simmered with such anger, suppressed under years of careful self-control – Glinda did not dare move, did not dare lower her hands to meet her friend's gaze, did not dare say another word, and yet – and yet -!

* * *

**This is based on some cut dialogue from an early workshop version of the musical. It led into a pretty great song called 'For Goodness' Sake' which basically consisted of Elphaba and Glinda exchanging insults and hissing snarkily at each other for two minutes flat (to the delight of Gelphie fans everywhere, I'm sure). It later became the 'I Hope You're Happy' portion of Defying Gravity instead. **


	3. Stolen Broomsticks (Wizard, Elphaba)

**Stolen Broomsticks (Pre-Wonderful, mild Gelphie friendship, featuring Broomstick, the Wizard) **

_**Elphaba steals a quiet moment of recollection in the Wizard's all-too-familiar throne room…before said Wizard steals something far more precious to her.**_

* * *

I took one step.

Two steps.

…_three _steps into the room, placing my feet with enough feather-light care to rival walking on ice. One could never be too cautious. I knew that all too well.

The throne room was bathed in darkness, a great echoing cathedral of a space…silent as the grave. _His_ mechanical head loomed in front of me upon its throne. Lifeless. A golden skull. The whole place was lit by moonlight only, stealing in through the few open windows.

Déjà vu – swooping déjà vu washed over me. Cursed was identical. Exactly the same. Not one single detail out of place, even after all these years. I could almost feel _her_ trembling hand around mine, feel the warmth of her sweaty palm…the heavy weight of my bag against one hip, chock-full of Animal rights bills…the green glasses in my pocket, leftover from our one short day in a city I had, over these past few years, grown to loathe…_so…much…_

I shook my head, banishing the thoughts. Now was not the time. I tiptoed towards the head and around the back, peering for any sign of _him. _Nothing. No one. Just a battered pair of goggles and a half-drunk mug of coffee. right, then…it was time to find those monkeys.

A very faint hum of music drifted from outside one of half-open windows. Trumpets, and a drum or two. A could that be about? I hesitated – then leant Broomstick up against the back of the Ozhead. He bristled a few indignant twigs.

"Don't be ridiculous," I muttered, turning away. "I wouldn't leave you in this place if you _begged_." He whacked the hem of my dress playfully in response. "Quit that." Another _whack. _I almost grinned. "Now you're just being childish."

I scrambled up onto the window sill and peered through the misted glass, searching for the source of the noise. The music had stopped – yes, a fanfare, that was what it must have been – and silence had fallen again. I squinted – Oz-damnit, it was times like these that I missed my glasses more than ever – wondering, hoping that maybe…just maybe _she_ would be there, maybe I would get a glimpse of her out in those courtly gardens, enjoying the ball, maybe_…_that fanfare had been for her.

The silence was thick all about me. A blanket of stillness. Almost comforting. Utter…peace. I let my eyes flicker shut, revelling in the rare moment…

"I KNEW YOU'D BE BACK."

I jolted out of my trance with a stifled shout –toppling backwards off the sill and stumbling to the , Elphaba. Just brilliant.

Scrambling up, I whirled on my heel to see…to see…

…_he _hadn't changed either…

A mere few feet from me stood what a good three-quarters of this Oz-damned city deemed _the Wizard_, leaning against the side of his mechanical head as though it were an everyday occurrence for him to find his self-proclaimed mortal enemy crouched on the floor before him, glaring daggers. He smiled down at me in a mild, familiar way that made my skin crawl. The memories that smile dredged up…

His hair was shadowed with streaks of iron, and his eyes quite not as bright as the last time we had met…but every other detail, down to the last button on that _ridiculous _striped coat, was the same.

I balled my hands into fists, reaching out for the none-existent handle of Broomstick –_ Oz-damnit, _where was he?! My eyes darted – his did too, following my stricken gaze. He glanced from me to Broomstick, who was playing 'normal' and failing dismally as always – and dived at the same moment I did. He was closer.

"_Don't you dare -!_" I hissed as his wrinkled hands whipped twisting, struggling Broomstick away behind him "Give him _back -!_"

"Him?" he wheezed, holding onto Broomstick with all of his strength; his tone was touched with amusement and creaking with age just as I remembered it, rusty at the edges. "_Him -? _Dear me, Elphaba –"

I was practically snarling. "Let him _go!_"

"Elphaba," he sighed, swinging Broomstick out of reach. "Please, just hear me out – let's talk about this for a – _oh!_"

He stumbled, clutching one hand to his temples in pain as I let loose a jinx…

…but kept hold of Broomstick.

"_Elphaba_."


	4. Smalltalk (Flinda-Gliyero)

**Smalltalk (Dancing Through Life, Gliyero/Flinda, mild Gelphie hate, featuring Boq) **

_**Just what exactly were Galinda and Fiyero whispering about whilst they slow-danced at the Ozdust Ballroom?**_

* * *

Galinda was positive she had never been so happy in her life.

Everything had fallen into place. Shiz was a success; a beautiful, roaring, dizzying success. She had won – against all the odds…well…one 'odd' in particular – she had won. She was the worshipped queen, the jewel to be sought after, the beauty to be desired. Everyone – nearly, _nearly _everyone – adored her; she had more friends than she could ever want. Popsicle had sent her a suitcase of new dresses. She'd been invited to a party, down at the Ozdust ballroom. And, most important of all, there was the source of both the party and the invitation that came with it…

They were slow dancing. He had already kissed her, kissed her breathless, kissed her right out on the dance floor in front of everyone, her first kiss, _her first kiss _– the very thought built a squeal in her throat, a secret smile to her lips. She couldn't wait to tell Momsie. A Winkie prince – how proud she would be!

"So, hey – where's that roommate of yours tonight, then?" Fiyero murmured, swaying them both gently from side to side, in time with the music. Glinda frowned.

"I have _no _idea," she sniffed. There wasn't any subject on earth she would rather discuss less. Fiyero chuckled at her pout, bending to brush her lips with his in a kiss – _my second, his second, our second! – _that was over far too quickly for her liking. He chuckled as he drew away, sensing her disappointment.

"You enjoying the evening?"

"Mm-hm." She didn't want to open her eyes.

"Me too," he mumbled, almost too ready with an answer, almost rehearsed, almost _too _practiced. "Me too, Miss Upland."

His eyes didn't quite meet hers – he stared behind her, stared at something she couldn't see, something that giggled and click-clacked away, eliciting another chuckle from him. Glinda bit her lip. She wished _she_ could be the only one to make him chuckle. She wished she was as good at this as he was. She wanted to seem that way; ready, confident. She wanted it to be perfect for him, too. A dream of his come true, just as it was for her.

Eagerly, she stretched up to round off their number of kisses at three, fastening her arms around his neck –

"Would you like some more – punch –?" a familiar, tremulous little voice queried from behind them. Galinda ducked her face swiftly against Fiyero's shoulder, feeling her cheeks warm. What would Momsie have thought of her, initiating such a public display of affection like that? Still…she couldn't help an odd, unexpected spike of irritation piercing the pit of her stomach at whomever it was for interrupting them.

Fiyero was coughing back a laugh.

"Um – what do _you_ think?"

It wasn't really a statement that required an answer. Galinda was reminded, unpleasantly, of Elphaba's horrid rhetorical questions she never could understand. She sighed. _Ugh, _there she was again, ploughing her way into Galinda's thoughts, stamping all over her happiness with those big ugly boots of hers…

The punch boy was stammering, his voice shooting up a half-octave – how strangely familiar the sound was…perhaps he had asked her to go out with him, at some point or another…? She didn't dare show her face to check.

"I'm – dreadfully sorry – I thought that maybe Miss Galinda might –!"

"You thought wrong. Sorry, little guy."

Galinda giggled, dusting a curtain of ringlets across her face so the punch boy couldn't see, as her prince lead her away over to a more secluded corner. The music was quieter here, as were the chatters of the other couples – much more private. She put on her best pout, directing it up at him.

"That was such_ hideotious_ timing."

He grinned, but his eyes roamed far across the room, watching the latest gaggle of female students enter the ballroom. Galinda bit her lip, pressing herself a bit closer to him, beginning to sway them both in time with the music once again.

"Don't you think so, dearest?" she spoke up, when he still made no answer.

"Couldn't have put it better myself," came the mumbled answer, but he bent to kiss her again. "Let's continue where we left off…"

Glinda closed her eyes, and pretended she hadn't seen.


	5. Hands Touch (Fiyeraba)

**Hands Touch (Lion cub scene, Fiyeraba, featuring Lion Cub)**

**_Eyes meet. Sudden silence. Sudden heat. _**

* * *

_"No, you're not. Or you wouldn't be so unhappy."_

* * *

Silence, for a moment, whilst he considered that. I waited, arms folded, scowl cemented in place. His eyes...wouldn't quite meet mine...

"...f-fine," he shrugged, but I could see the slight tightening of his jaw, the lowered eyebrows; he hadn't seen that one coming, and he wasn't taking it well. _Oz-damnit, Tiggular. _Glinda would never forgive me.

"Look here –" I sighed.

"Nope," he interrupted, backing away, hands raised. "I give up. You deal with it. You don't want my help –"

"- I never said –!"

"I'll leave you to it –"

"But -"

- but what, what, _what, _Elphaba, and he was slouching away, hands stuffed in his pockets; rejected, rebuffed, infuriatedwith me, despairing of me, leaving me,because I didn't want his –

"- idiot, I do, I _do -!_" I blurted, and my legs lurched me forward, my hand taking on a mind of its own, darting out and catching his in mine and…

…and…

…and how...warm…his hand…was. How heavy. How different from Galinda's delicate, feather-light weight. And how different from father's cast-iron grip. How smoothly, how sinuously are fingers fastened. Locked in place. A perfect fit. How…natural it felt. How easy. How…pleasant. My eyes slid to his. His eyes on mine were very steady and very, very blue.

"- I – do –!"

- I tore my hand away, stuffing it into my pocket. My voice was too high. Too loud. The most ludicrous, insignificant little shudder dance up my back, my neck, over my shoulders. _Ugh_. Mad. Insane. Glinda must have been rubbing off on me.  
I pushed my hand as far down as it would go, burying it out of sight. Fiyero's had not moved, simply hanging suspended in mid-air, outstretched to me, fingers still folded around my invisible ones. _For Oz's sake –_

" – I – so –!" I stammered, unable to think of a single Oz-damned quip for the first time in my life and feeling my eyes narrow to slits at that thought. "I…_anyway…_"

A low, growling moan sounded from behind me, making us both jump. The cub. Oh Oz, how could I have _forgotten…_

"It's all right – it's all right!" I blurted, jerking round and fleeing across the clearing to the covered cage. My jacket felt tight, hot – _for Oz's sake, it wasn't even April, yet! – _whilst my fingers slipped on the latch of the cage door. _Get a grip, Elphaba, come on. _

"It's ok…it's all right…" I muttered, finally snapping the stupid cage open and bending to gaze into its dark depths. The Lion cub was shivering to tip to tail, his eyes a wide, caramel-yellow as they fixed on me. My fists clenched. Oz, couldn't anyone see it was terrified? Who would dare do something like this? How could they? How _could _they?

"It's all right…shh…" I murmured, reaching a tentative finger out towards him – he shrank back, squeaking the tiniest _rawrgh_ of a sound. I couldn't help but smile, just a bit. He was so tiny, so precious. And motherless too, if the professor was to be believed.

"You poor, poor thing," I whispered, stroking his left ear, his right ear, the little fuzz of buttery fur on top of his head. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, for everything you've had to suffer. But you're safe now, all right? You're safe. And you're a beautiful, _beautiful _little Lion…"

He quivered under my touch, but didn't try to bolt, thank Oz. I stroked him very slowly, rhythmically, trying to stay as still as possible. Still, he shivered every time I touched him. Perhaps I should have just given up and stopped. Perhaps I was making things worse…

I cursed, drawing my hand away and pulling back to give him some air. "I was trying to help – I didn't mean to frighten you –"

"What did you mean to do?"

I jumped. I'd almost forgotten about him. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Fiyero flop down beside me, hands stuffed in his pockets again, eyes locked on me. _What was wrong with him –_ why was he being so…so_…_!

"Elphaba –"

He hesitated; coughed a laugh; shrugged…then fixed me with eyes as blue as cornflowers and bright as jewels and _oh my Oz, Elphaba, just listen to yourself, what did Avaric spike the drinks with at dinner last night…_

"Elphaba, why was I the only one you didn't…you know…do it to?"

I opened my mouth – then closed it again, noticing his cheek. _Argh. Ouch._

"You're bleeding," I muttered.

He said nothing. Just stared at me.

"Tiggular?"

Nothing. No words. Just his eyes. His unblinking gaze.

"He must have…"

…_must have what, must have what, come on, Elphaba, wake up, must have what…!_

"…scratched you."

Blink. Just once. A single blink, a half-smile, a shift of the lips. Those perfectly full, even lips.

"Yeah. Yeah, maybe."

The movement of his jaw oozed blood from the cut, trickling over the jut of his cheekbone. My hand was out of my pocket and reaching for him before I consciously made the decision to do so. It was instinct that did it, years of instinct, of father's gaze, of his expecting those split-second reactions, those obedient attendances. My fingers traced the skin of Fiyero's cheek, swiped ever-so-softly at the wet warmth of the blood, close enough to see every freckle on his forehead, close enough to meet his gaze, eyes that widened as they stared into mine, and _merciful Oz _he was _–_

"- I – I have to get to safety."


	6. The Milkflower Birth (Elphaba, Frex)

**Milkflower Birth (Pre-Wicked, featuring Elphaba, Frex) **

**_The night Nessarose lives and her mother dies, Elphaba shares a strained moment with her father._**

* * *

"Oz-damnit, child, get your hands away from your ears!"

She jumps. _Oh. _Spray spatters at her from behind, waking her from her daze; Father's voice is a hissing command, strained with anguish she knows he does not wish for her to hear. She sits very still, knees curled up to her chest upon the stair she perches on, not looking at him. She removes her hands slowly, obediently from her ears. On any other day, she would not. She would keep them tight where they were, just to see how far she could goad him, just to savour that attention a few seconds longer…

But today is not the day. She may be young. And green. But she is not stupid.

"Not like it's even all that bad," Father mutters irritably, as though he himself had heard her very thoughts. "It will be over soon enough… Oz-knows Melena has suffered worse, yes, many a child has been known to arrive far earlier than this –"

- his words cut off abruptly, and she cuts off, too, from her racing thoughts and tangled mess of silent questions as they both jump at her Mother's resounding scream echoing from her bedroom far above them…

_Oh Mother, Mother, Mother…_

She shivers all over, squeezing her eyes tight shut as though it will keep away the world outside that, for once, she does not want to face. Does not want to argue, to bite back, to defend or deny or anything else besides…she wants to hide. To bury her face against Mother's warm shoulder, safe and protected and rocked to sleep in that way she so very occasionally is…_Mother…_

"For Oz's sake, child, stop making such a dreadful fuss. Wipe that absurd expression off your face."

_Expression? What expression?_ She examines the nooks and crannies of her features with trembling, grassy fingers, feeling the hard lines and tense, lowered eyebrows…

Father does not like it because he is pretending. Still. Pretending that all is well, that Mother shall be just fine, that her little sister or brother will be with them all within the hour…a _baby, _the servants all said. A him. A her.

She finds it all very confusing and very illogical, to imagine a new, real person appearing from her Mother's swollen tummy during the course of just one evening. But Father says it will be just fine; very easy, very normal, very natural. He says the milkflowers will make it all right, this time. _This time. _She believed him, yesterday…but now, she knows better.

She struggles to rearrange the contours of her face into a more neutral set – but fails, as another splintering shriek sounds from Mother, far away upstairs. The sound makes her tummy jolt and flip in the most horrible way, and silly, irrational dampness well in her eyes. She blinks hard, pressing a hand to her mouth to stop it trembling.

"Oh merciful Oz..." Father's voice whispers from up behind her, and the sound is a cry, the softest wisp of one, all pretence gone now. He is desperate, falling to pieces before her very eyes and the sight is wrong, frightening. If Father cannot hold on, then what hope is there for the rest of them? "What could have happened…what could be wrong…Fabala, run and see if they will let you into the chamber, there must be something we can do –"

She is shaking her head before he can finish his sentence. "Father, I already tried –"

"Try again, Fabala. Try again."

She squirms at the name, her stomach beginning to rights itself again. Oh, what wouldn't she give to have him call her that every day, every time he speaks to her, of her, with her…

"Get a move on, child, we haven't got all day!"

She frowns, rising from her step to turn and pad up the remainder of them, hand reaching for the banister, far above her.

"None, Father."

"What?" he snapped. "What do you mean? Speak up, child!"

"None," she murmurs, scrambling up step by step and past him, onto the landing carpet. "None of the day left, Father. It's night."

His hand snaps out to clip her ear, but she dodges, tumbling away from him and down the landing to the locked door of Mother's bedroom.


End file.
